


The Poisoning of Preston Northwest

by writinghiei



Series: Almost Everything [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Physical Abuse, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writinghiei/pseuds/writinghiei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Preston's brother was always there. He practically raised him - he always made sure Preston had enough to eat and got his homework done and got checkups from a personal doctor. He laughed with Preston, cried with him, and kept him from getting into fights.<br/>But none of that could possibly be true, could it? After all, Preston is an only child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Poisoning of Preston Northwest

**Author's Note:**

> This work takes a long time to update! However, I am currently writing more for it, and I have a lot planned. I hope you all like it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preston breaks his wrist and is scared of someone learning the true cause of the injury.

Everything hurt. Preston Northwest's left wrist, hand, arm exploded with pain as he stumbled up the stairs, down the hall, and into his bedroom. He made the mistake of glancing down at his wrist, which was gently cradled against his chest. His fingers were twisted funny, and he was pretty sure one of the bones in his wrist was about to pop out of his skin. He wimpered quietly as he crawled under his multitude of blankets hidden in his closet, intent on hiding in his safe place forever. Below him, he heard shouting, a beer bottle breaking, a grunt of pain. A door slam. Silence. Then, footsteps on the stairs. Preston huddled into his cocoon more as the person neared his door.

"Baby bro?" Preston flinched away from the muffled sound of his brother Ivan's voice through his bedroom door. He clamped the hand that wasn't on fire over his mouth in to keep himself from moaning in agony and burrowed further under his covers. He was so relieved that it was Ivan at the door and not his father, or worse, his mother, but at the same time, he didn't want Ivan to bother him right now. He knew he'd just fuss over him. He  _hated_ it when Ivan fussed over him. It was more than enough when he was only a little sick, but he was definitely in too much pain right now to deal with even a short conversation. Ivan would just have to wait for his wrist to stop hurting so much.

Preston hissed as a fresh wave of pain shot up his arm. He foolishly tried to move his hand, but that, as expected, only made the pain worse. His wrist really was fucked up, then. And he was pretty sure that those twisted fingers were broken, too. Why Father had slammed him into the wall so hard was beyond him. He hadn't even done anything wrong! He hadn't come home late, he didn't talk back to his dad, he was just trying to write in his journal. And now he couldn't even do that, as it was his writing hand that he'd thrown up to absorb the impact of hitting the wall. _Fuck,_ Preston mouthed. He winced as more, separate pains made themselves known all across his ribs, hip, leg. He had really messed up his whole left side, hadn't he? _  
_

"Preston, please answer me!" Ivan's muffled voice pulled Preston partially out of his agonized haze.

He slid his closet door open an inch. "Go away, Ivan. I need to be alone right now." Preston called back after taking a deep breath, inwardly cringing as each word that fell from his mouth trembled with fear and pain. He heard Ivan sigh, followed by a soft rustling that meant his brother was going to sit in front of Preston's room until he came out.

Preston slid the closet door shut again and lay under his blankets for a really long time. He was sure that he'd dosed off at least twice before he decided it was safe to emerge from his shelter. He wiggled out from his cocoon, all but fell out of the closet, and ran his good hand through his now-tangled hair. He must not have been hiding for that long; it was still light out. His injured hand and arm were still in pain, but Preston told himself it wasn't as bad as it had been before.

He went to the door and pressed his mouth to the wood before saying as quietly as he could manage while being understandable, "Ivan? I'm ready to leave my room." He heard a movement from the other side of the door, and when he opened it he saw that his brother had moved to sit with his back against the wall opposite the door.

"Dad left right after I yelled at him, you know," Ivan informed Preston as he sat beside him. "Probably went to get more drunk." There was a bitter edge to Ivan's tone, as there always was when he spoke of their father.

"I'm glad he's gone. I just wish that I could write out my journal..." Preston sighed sadly at the thought, wishing that his father didn't have to ruin  _everything_ for him.

"Ah, yeah, lemme look at that," Ivan murmured. He picked up the limb as gently as he could, exclaiming "sorry!!"s every time Preston hissed in pain.

"It's almost certainly broken," he finally announced. "We're gonna need to go to the hospital."

"What if the hospital asks questions?" Preston asked as Ivan scooped him up. "What if they find out what happens to us? What if they try to get dad into trouble? Mom'll be mad at us forever..."

"We'll come up with something, Preston. We always do."

"Mhm. Maybe we can say that I tripped and fell on the stairs. That makes sense, right?" He said as they went down the stairs.

"Yes, it does." Ivan said. He set Preston down so that he would be able to open doors. Preston followed him outside. He wasn't sure why Ivan had decided to carry him, but he wasn't going to complain. Together they walked over to Ivan's beat up car.

"Are you going to need help buckling up?" Ivan asked as Preston sat down in the passenger seat.

Preston looked down at the seatbelt. His right hand worked just fine, but he wasn't sure he could buckle up without hurting his left side more. "Yes, please. Help would be great."

Ivan buckled him in, doing his best to not jostle any of Preston's left side, then moved around to the driver's seat. He turned the key in the ignition, praying aloud for it to work, then backed out of the driveway. For the first time in years, Preston was going to the hospital. He leaned against the cool window and fell asleep.


End file.
